Reflections

By Alp Mortal

Copyright © 2017 Alp Mortal

Written by Alp Mortal - http://alpmortal.weebly.com

Cover Design by The Carter Seagrove Project LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by

The Carter Seagrove Project LLC

Indiana, USA

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First Edition 2017

Contents

Contents

Reflections

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by this Author

The Carter Seagrove Project

Reflections

Succeeding for the most part in avoiding the dust that could have marred the shine of his shoes, which had taken more than an hour to polish to a mirror finish, he stepped confidently along the main drag towards the place of the planned rendezvous - the fountain. Stopping to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window of the shop where he worked, which although risky was worth it for a quick peek, he checked his tie. His eyes struggled to focus on his reflection as they were drawn to the myriad lampshades and the constellations of dazzling bulbs - it was as if he were looking inside the cosmos itself.

Beyond the window display, through a gap in the arrangement, he had the slimmest and briefest of views of the man who rode up and down the ladder all day to dust the shades and change the bulbs. Suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the man’s gaze, which seemed both angry and yet coy at the same time, he dropped his eyes to the bouquet of the tulips that he held in his hand, willing them to swallow him up and save him from his present embarrassment. They didn’t and he hurried away, struggling on against the feeling that he had probably ruined his chances. He made his way to the Square.

In finding Benjamin at the fountain, his heart sank like a stone, especially when he saw Marie’s familiar silhouette over Benjamin’s shoulder as she too made her way towards the fountain. What cruelty was this that he had to witness a young couple in love play out the scene for what felt like his benefit alone? Was it not enough that he had spent weeks practising asking the question so that it would sound as ordinary and as familiar as if he were enquiring after the time or the way to the station? There could be no witnesses; the plot called for no witnesses!

She reached him first, kissed his cheek and removed a stray, perhaps an imaginary hair from his lapel before slipping her arm in his and allowed him to guide her towards the cinema. Walking through the airspace, he could still detect the faint traces of cologne and the woody vapours of Benjamin’s hand-blended tobacco mix. Her cheap perfume provided the loudest of exclamation points. Stop! Yes; he had no strength to walk further than the bench, where he sat down, to wilt in the heat much like the tulips. He tossed them in the fountain, hoping to save something out of the experience. Confidence was such a transitory thing; like a kite made of tissue paper - one strong gust of wind and the thing lay in tatters.

For want of better employment, he examined the toes of his shoes and noticed a fresh scratch.

“Damn!”

“Sorry?”

He looked up to find the man from the shop, standing a little way off, staring at him.

“I’ve scratched my shoe.”

Letting his eyes fall to the shoes, the man asked, “Who were the flowers for?”

“No one; I was just carrying them because they looked especially pretty.”

He could not admit to the truth; even just the sight of the man’s freshly scrubbed hands robbed him of his resolve.

“Do you like jazz? There’s a new quartet playing at Nymphaea tonight.”

He knew it. Patience and observation had provided the information - always a drink at a bar after work if there was live jazz.

“I love jazz ...” he lied, hoping it wasn’t too modern.

Lifting his head, the man said, “My name’s Simon.”

“I know; we used to attend the same school. I’m Clamence ...”

“I see you sometimes ... Shall we go then?”

“Yes ... Do you like stars?”

“Yes ...”

“Is that why you work in the lighting shop?”

“No; my father expects me to carry on the business after he is gone. What does your father expect?”

“The same ... repairing shoes is in our soul ... Sorry; one of my father’s pathetic jokes.”

“So the scratch will soon be just a memory ...”

“He used to make me wear a sandwich board and walk up and down the street to attract business ...”

“I remember. The boys used to throw stones at you and try and hit the board while your back was turned ...”

“I remember that ...” He moved his collar to one side and exhibited a scar on his neck, adding, “... he ceased to make me do it after that ... My mother was angrier that my shirt was ruined ...”

They walked to the bar. Simon guided them as it was one that Clamence did not know very well.

On the approach, he remembered the one. It was the one with the counter that was covered in zinc. The edge reflected the red stop lights of the cars in the street and resembled an odd kind of thermometer, which in a way it was. And the bar, if the newspaper article could be believed, where a man, a young man, was sat drinking in an effort to forget the fact that he had married the wrong girl; a girl he had gotten pregnant. The story went that he got drunk and the proprietor threw him out when he insulted a prostitute. He stumbled outside and into the path of a bus and was killed instantly. It was the same bus that bore his wife who was in the throes of labour; she was, apparently, attempting to reach the hospital to give birth to their first child, having waited for her husband to return but having panicked when her waters broke. When she saw his dead face staring up at her through the window, she collapsed and aborted the child. A doctor, who had lately come from a long operation to replace a great politician’s heart, was on hand and delivered the child and breathed life into its fragile lungs. He married the woman and adopted the child.

No one was entirely convinced that the story was true because the papers printed such bizarre rubbish nowadays.

Taking seats near the little stage, they arranged their cigarettes and lighters on the table like battleships and, once the waiter had brought a pichet of the decent red, they raised a toast to their good health.

He found the music melancholy unlike Simon who thought it ‘just the thing’. Leaving the bar, a little inebriated it was true, they linked arms for the walk back. Just past the fountain, they encountered Benjamin and Marie, also walking together but straight-backed and barely touching. From the snatches of their conversation, it was clear that she was upset and angry. Apparently, Benjamin had flirted with the usherette.

“He threw the stone that cut your neck ...”

“I always thought it had to be Pierre because he always avoided me from that time on.”

“I think it was because he loved you.”

“Which seems like a poor reason to avoid someone.”

“Really?”

Clamence blushed, wondering if his ruse had been as easy to see through as tissue paper.

At the street door of his appartement, garnering all of his forces, he kissed Simon sweetly on the cheek and bade him goodnight but not before extracting a promise that they would do lunch the following day.

“Shall we rebel and take the afternoon off?”

Clamence was slow to reply and Simon added, “Only if you want to of course ...”

“Be careful; once I have the measure of the rebel inside me, there is no end to the rebellion that I may cause on the outside of me.”

“From that, I gather you read Camus?”

“Devour Camus would be more accurate. Do you read?”

“Nothing or anyone so profound ... “

In perhaps an act of rebellion, possibly as a trial run, Clamence stepped up and kissed Simon on the mouth; only to be enveloped in the other man’s arms and crushed to his chest while their lips were pressed together.

“The appartement is empty; my father has gone to Avignon to see my aunt,” Clamence announced once they broke off.

“This rebellion could lead to an outright revolt!”

Clamence let them in.

“Why did you feign ignorance of who I was when you saw me by the fountain?”

“I thought you would remember me, the incident, and I thought perhaps you had always believed that it was I who had lobbed the stone.”

“I never believed it was you.”

“It could never have been me ...”

“But you were there.”

“I mean; I was not capable. Sure; I ranted like the rest and ran away with the others but only because I did not want Benjamin to think that I was a ninny.”

“What will he think of you now?”

“I honestly don’t care ...”

Inside the appartement, they rapidly undressed and slid in under the blankets, immediately launching into an oral attack and counter-attack until they were breathless and heady.

Simon manoeuvred Clamence into position, wanting to fuck first.

“What are those ridges across the lower part of your back?”

“My father whipped me that day because I cried.”

“That sounds pretty savage.”

“Not half as savage as I hope you fuck me ...”

It was a spirited attempt but marred by the alcohol.

“I can always try again later ... if you want me to stay.”

“Won’t your father wonder where you are?”

“If he follows the usual pattern for the evening, by now, he will be slumped over his workbench, having spent hours soldering wires. He hardly notices if I am there or not.”

“What about your mother?”

“She suffers a malady that confines her to her bed for the best part of the day and night.”

“What kind of malady?”

“A kind of mental fatigue ... I suppose one says depression these days but the very word makes me depressed.”

“Lie on your stomach and open your legs ...”

Simon complied, albeit feeling tense at the prospect of being speared by the healthy member that Clamence seemed, in his opinion, to be perfectly ignorant of despite the fact that it was at least eight inches long and as fat as his wrist.

“Lube up well; you’re liable to do me an injury otherwise.”

“What are those marks across your lower back?”

“Benjamin and Pierre beat me when I refused to take a piss against the board while it was resting against the wall outside the shop.”

“So your fear of being called a ninny did ultimately disappear then?”

“I realised that being called a ninny was nothing like as hurtful as knowing that you had been mean.”

“But for the sake of a piss, you got beaten and scarred ...”

“Does that sound absurd?”

“No ... noble and possibly rebellious.”

“I always wondered if I had it in me. FUCK!”

“Wonder no more ...”

The rhythmic thwack of bare flesh on bare flesh was like a metronome. Sweet music escaped through the open window and gave the neighbours little chance of sleep until the clock struck two a.m.

“Clamence; you are possessed!”

“I believe I have exorcised that demon rebel.”

“And so much brimstone!”

“I do not believe that the fire in these loins will ever be extinguished.”

“Who were the flowers for? I believe you have been stoking those fires for some considerable time.”

“... Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ ...”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yes; Othello ...”

“Meaning?”

“A jealous man finds any reason and points to every shred of evidence to justify the feeling.”

“If you had a date, they must surely be wondering what happened to you.”

“I didn’t; like I said, I thought they were pretty.”

“Was it Benjamin?”

“Benjamin? I am a fool but not a complete idiot.”

“He swings both ways; I’ve sucked his cock.”

“When?”

“When we were fifteen and we went camping ... we shared a tent.”

“I do not remember that trip.”

“I do not remember you coming ...”

“Maybe it was at the time of my mother’s illness. And you sucked his cock ... What was it like?”

“Turbulent! Like grappling with an electric eel.”

“Did he suck yours?”

“No ... but he fucked me in the arse.”

“One of that sort ... It was not Benjamin.”

“Who then?”

“You don’t know him. He was always the shy one at school.”

“So they really were for you.”

“Like I said ... Were you hoping that they were for you?”

“I saw you looking in the window.”

“You looked angry.”

“I was on duty and both dusty and sweating ...”

“I was checking my tie, however, I caught a glimpse of you through the gap between the Tiffany-style lamps ...”

“They sell very well ... I might have hoped that they were for me.”

“Then let us say that they were not for anyone until the moment of truth became manifest ...”

“So chance?”

“Fate ... Do you believe in Fate, Simon?”

“I believe in luck.”

“Luck is absurd.”

“Fate is an abandonment of reason.”

“Love is abandonment.”

“Love is a miracle.”

“We can agree on that ... Do you want to try again?”

“Yes ...”

oOo

“I made you some coffee, Simon.”

“What time is it?”

“It is 7.30 and I must get ready for work soon.”

“As must I ... but what about the idea of taking off this afternoon? I am positive Father will agree.”

“The shop closes early today - at noon. Meet me at Folie’s.”

“Champion idea. Afterwards, we could go swimming.”

“Where?”

“The Lido?”

“I think I would enjoy that - excellent!”

Simon leant back against the headboard and sipped his coffee while Clamence got ready for work. He was amazed at the tightest, hardness and roundness of Clamence’s buttocks, who was at that moment, selecting clean underwear from his chest of drawers.

“You have amazing buttocks ...”

Clamence threw a glance over his shoulder, unable to keep the wicked grin off his face.

“I cycle whenever I have the opportunity. You climb ladders all day; small wonder that yours are like rock cakes.”

“I don’t like my calves; they seem overly developed ...”

“I would like to build up my arms a little,” Clamence admitted, turning and stepping into the underwear, adding as he pulled them up with a swift tug and a snap of the waistband, “I was thinking of doing some weight training ...”

“Perhaps rowing; that would develop the abdominals too.”

“Shall we try it on Sunday?”

“Yes; let’s do that ...”

“I have to leave soon, Simon ... by all means take a shower. If you could leave by the rear stairs that would avoid any embarrassing questions from my neighbour who keeps his eye on the street door all day.”

“No problem ... I will see you at noon.”

Clamence quickly donned his shirt and trousers before pulling on a pair of Chelsea-style boots. He approached the side of the bed.

“Four hours - ah! I almost forgot my swimming trunks.”

“That reminds me to fetch mine too ... We’ll hire towels, shall we?”

“Yes. See you later.”

He leant in for a kiss and found it hard to resist the temptation to get straight back into bed. However, the prospect of seeing Simon in his trunks and dripping wet gave him the push he needed to leave ... only then did he wish that he had worn looser shorts.

Watching him leave, Simon downed the dregs of the coffee and turned over to cuddle the pillow and grab a fistful of sheet and blanket to press to his face to breathe in the mix of sex and sweat. He only got up to shower once he had masturbated again.

oOo

“How was work this morning?” Clamence enquired as Simon sat down at the table.

“Some attractive sales to some unattractive women ... men do not buy lamps. And you?”

“There is nothing vaguely attractive about stitching new soles onto old shoes ... However, I see more men, and some of them are quite handsome ... but usually, they work in the fields or for the office of the Mairie and their boots stink of either manure or rubbish.”

“What would you do if you did not work for your father?”

“I would like to be a draughtsman - actually, I would like to design motorcars, specifically the engines of motorcars ...”

“You have surprised me ... but you do not have a car, do you?”

“I do. I am restoring an old sports car. I wondered if you had connections that could possibly source the bulbs I need for the headlamps.”

“I’m sure we have connections ...”

“That would be sterling ... What would you do?”

“Design clothes, especially clothes for the theatre.”

“Why do we do it? Why do we allow our futures to be corralled and fettered?”

“Familial obligations ... and then there is the no small issue of money.”

“I earn a pittance but, that said, I want for nothing ...”

“Likewise ... But I agree. Perhaps we should stage a revolution.”

“I promised my mother before she died that I would look after my father ...”

“Yes; and Father cannot manage Mother by himself ... Birds locked up in a cage; that is what we are.”

“Well-fed birds with an afternoon off ... What do you fancy for lunch?”

“The soup, I think. Nothing heavy before swimming.”

“Agreed.”

They ate their lunch and drank water rather than wine. After a small, black coffee, they left the café and sauntered to the swimming baths, which had, in their heydey, been a draw for the crowds for miles around, being one of the finest examples of Art Deco architecture. Nowadays, the crowds preferred the modern baths that had been built on the site of the old china factory.

They made their way through the cathedral-like atrium and along the gracious, albeit somewhat dilapidated, blue glazed tile clad corridors to the male changing room. They selected separate changing compartments, all of which had their own exit onto the poolside.

Leaving their clothes, together with their towels, hung up on the hooks in the changing cabinets, and sporting swimming trunks that had also been fashionable in the 1920s - and not since - they exited onto the poolside and dived in. Save for three elderly women, wearing daisy-encrusted rubber skull caps, swimming lengths like so many manatees, and two elderly gentlemen, sitting in the glass-enclosed portion of the terrace, reading newspapers, they had the pool to themselves. After their initial dunking and wishing to impress each other, they headed for the diving pool. Simon was competent but Clamence lacked a little form. It didn’t stop them from repeatedly scaling the ten-metre board and flinging themselves off the edge.

After frolicking for half an hour, they retired to the outdoor terrace to bathe in the sunshine and dry off.

“You are an excellent diver,” Clamence announced.

“I have no patience for swimming lengths; diving is exhilarating.”

“You have no trouble with climbing the ladder ...”

“I could feel your breath on the small of my back ...”

“Safety first; had you slipped-”

“You would have been there to catch me.”

“Exactly!”

Half an hour on the terrace dried them off and it was beginning to bring a flush to their skins.

“I feel I might be burning, Simon ...”

“Me too. More diving?”

“After a few lengths.”

“I want to practise my swallow dive so I’ll see you in a bit ...”

Albeit having to avoid the old-timers, who were all standing and talking in the shallow end, Clamence swam a good few lengths. On each alternate length, he waited and watched Simon dive off the board, likening him to a kingfisher.

Reaching his limit of one thousand metres, Clamence got out of the pool and headed for the steam room, having gestured to Simon to join him. Being first, he nabbed the highest slated bench seat and stretched out full length to let the heat and steam work out the remaining knots in his shoulders and lower back.

“Ahoy!” Simon bellowed as he entered the room.

“Fool!”

“You must have done twenty lengths.”

“It was twenty ... Do you have any preference for dinner tonight?”

“None whatsoever ... Did you?”

“I could cook ... My father is back on Sunday and I suggest we make hay while the sun shines.”

“I would need to make sure that Mother is okay first.”

“Fine ...”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Perfect ... What time is it now, Simon?”

“About three o’clock ...”

“Half an hour to let my shoulders and back recover and I propose some tea.”

Simon took one of the other bench seats and lay down.

“I meant to ask you, Simon; did your father question you over your failure to return home last night?”

“No. I sneaked in and successfully avoided him seeing me so that when he called me, it was as if I had been asleep in my own bed all night.”

“Do you think he would have been angry if he had known that you had stayed out?”

“Probably not angry ... more surprised.”

“Pleasantly surprised?”

“That would depend on who he thought I was with.”

“I take it that he doesn’t know then.”

“No ... Does yours?”

“I would say on the basis that he never mentions anything that he knows but chooses to say nothing for fear of embarrassment.”

“We have a tacit agreement that neither of us does anything to upset Mother ...”

“Understandable.”

“But not very fair.”

“Will you be able to stay over again tonight?”

“I see no reason why not.”

Basking in the prospect, neither was wholly aware of the fact that several other people had just come into the steam room. That was until one of the men spoke and asked his companion a question. Then it was apparent that it was Benjamin and Pierre who had walked in. Simon raised his head and caught their attention.

“Simon?”

“Yes; it is me, Pierre.”

“An afternoon off?”

“Yes; Clamence and I decided we needed a break.”

“Clamence? ... Clamence Ardennes?” Benjamin queried.

“Yes ...”

“I didn’t realise that you knew each other that well,” questioned Benjamin, adding, “He has a fine arse on him.”

“Do I?” Clamence queried without even raising his head.

Embarrassed silence descended; a silence only broken by the occasional knocking of the hot water pipes.

“Clamence; have you had enough? I need to get back.”

“Yes ...”

Simon got up from his bench and took a few steps towards the exit. Clamence stepped down from his perch.

“I need some shoes repaired, Clamence ...”

“Bring them in tomorrow, Benjamin, and I’ll take a look.”

With that, Clamence and Simon escaped and, after a plunge in the cold pool, returned to the changing cabinets to grab their towels before heading to the shower room.

“A fine arse indeed!” Simon announced, mimicking Benjamin’s accent, flicking his towel at the pair of naked mounds as they jostled in front of him, which he thought resembled perfect, pink sugar frosted meringues.

“Stop it! He was trying to rile you.”

“He damned near succeeded ... I had a good mind to tell him the score.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It should never be said in the heat of the moment; we always say things we regret in the heat of the moment.”

“I don’t know that I would regret that.”

“If that is true then tell your parents first.”

“Humpf ... Yes; but he said it to rile me.”

“Then the next opportunity you get, knock his block off ...”

After showering side-by-side, getting as close as they dared, they towelled off and got dressed just as Benjamin and Pierre entered the changing area, carrying their towels over their shoulders, displaying their ample equipment for all to see.

“Is my arse not as fine as his, Simon?” quipped Benjamin, clearing intent on causing a scene of some kind.

“At least as fine, I’m sure ... and with the added advantage that you can speak out of yours-”

“Watch it!”

Benjamin stepped forward threateningly and it was only Pierre’s timely intervention that prevented a scuffle.

Clamence and Simon left the changing room, followed by a flock of insults, all of which were designed to rile Simon.

“Damn him!”

“Simon; stay calm. What is he to you?”

“He is nothing to me.”

“Then ignore him.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“If we’re not careful, he’s going to have ruined the afternoon, which was no doubt his objective ... Let’s have some tea and talk about the weekend.”

“I don’t feel like tea now - in any event, Father will need my help to close up. I’ll be seeing you, Clamence.”

“Simon!”

By it did no good and Simon stomped off, leaving Clamence alone outside the baths, wondering whether or not he should run after him.

“Damn that imbecile!”

Meaning Benjamin, not Simon but he had to question why Simon had reacted quite so badly. He went home and, having some rare free time, he changed his clothes and went to the garage at the back of the shop to do some work on the car.

The car - a Jaguar XK120 - was disassembled to the point of unrecognizability; only the chassis gave the game away. For the next hour, he ground valve seats and then gave his attention to the sanding and polishing of the ash wood frame that was on the jig ahead of the delivery of the newly painted body tub which was coming from Duval’s within the next month.

Only once the light in the workshop was too dim to see to do anything properly did Clamence shut up shop and go back to the appartement, only then remembering that he had promised to cook dinner. By then, it was gone nine o’clock.

Presuming that Simon had arrived and then left when he had received no answer or hadn’t bothered at all, Clamence was surprised when he heard a rap on the rear door.

“Simon!”

“I’m sorry; I was very rude and I came to apologise ...”

“Come in then! I forgot all about dinner; are you hungry?”

“The furthest from hungry but I could murder a cup of tea and a slice of cheese on toast.”

“Sit down. I was working on the car and lost all track of time.”

“It took longer than usual to settle Mother ... I’m sorry for leaving you like that.”

“I understand ... but you can’t let him get to you.”

“What if he had said the same to you?”

“Knowing he was just trying to rile me, I would have ignored him.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Then why not come clean?”

“As I said before, I have agreed to do nothing to upset Mother ...”

“And do you think she would be upset?”

“Almost certainly ... I do not know how Father would react - not well, I am sure of that.”

Clamence busied himself with the tea and the cheese on toast. When he handed over the tea, he said, “I would be prepared to say something to my father if you wanted to come clean ...”

“You would?”

“Yes. Hang it! I hate not being able to be honest about who I am and how I feel towards you.”

“But we only made our own feelings known yesterday, Clam.”

“Be that as it may ...”

Did he admit to harbouring such desires and hopes for at least six months? Having repressed his attraction - in fact, everything - for almost ten years, he had to agree with himself; Simon was like a pebble dropped into a pond. The ripples were fairly well undoing his seams.

“I can’t risk it. If Mother has a relapse, the doctor says there is nothing more he can do.”

“Then I suppose we have to suck it up and make the best of it.”

“It’s so unfair!”

They ate in silence.

“Can you stay tonight?” Clamence asked.

“Yes, if you want me to.”

“I do ... My father is back at the weekend and then our opportunities will be severely limited.”

“Best we make the most of it then ... My mood is frayed.”

“Let me make you feel better ...”

Abandoning the kitchen, Clamence led Simon to his room, where he undressed him slowly, peppering his skin with a thousand tiny butterfly wing soft kisses as he did so, reserving the longest and sweetest until last when he tugged Simon’s underwear down to his feet, promptly enveloping the proud ramrod, sucking hard until Simon melted and crawled onto the bed with welcoming arms. Clamence hoisted his legs and feasted on the twin mounds that held between them a gem of a hole, which he licked and probed until Simon was clawing at his shoulders and groaning like a man suffering all manner of tortures.

“Clam!”

“Did you like it?”

“Never ... never have I felt so utterly consumed and at the mercy of my senses ... my ring is throbbing - take me!”

Well-lubed, Clamence speared his quarry and thrust like a Spartan, never once slowing, and all the while, pinching Simon’s pale little buds until they looked like bright red rosettes pinned to the proud chest of a Lipizzano.

“Clam! I’m cumming,” announced Simon as he beat off in time with the thrusts.

“Hold on; I’m almost there - God in Heaven! Here it comes!”

They both clenched; held in stasis as if they were frozen, painting a portrait of some mythical beast in its death throes; the hero with his sword poised for the fatal blow; mouths agape and eyes rolling.

Simon felt his cock swell and his balls contract before the stream of hot spunk flew from the end of his dick in all directions, splattering them both. Clam was a heartbeat behind, and then he too pumped out his load, crumbling with each spasm until he could not bear his own weight on his arms and collapsed into Simon’s embrace. Their mouths locked on and they kissed long and deep.

oOo

Clamence was waiting for Simon to return from the bathroom. Looking up at the ceiling, he was trying to imagine a life together if only they could summon up the courage to come clean and out themselves.

“A penny for them ...”

“Maybe one day it will all be different and we can be together and live our lives just like everyone else ...”

“You strike me as a patient man but I think even you would give up.”

“Snatched kisses and fucks in dark corners ... that would kill me now.”

“Perhaps it is better that we don’t see each other then ...”

“Seriously?”

“It will be torment, knowing how close you are but unable to do a thing about it.”

“It would kill me but I am prepared to try.”

“I don’t think I can ...”

Unwilling to discuss it, Clamence turned out the bedside light and snuggled up.

“Goodnight, Simon ...”

“Goodnight ...”

Of course, neither could sleep.

“Are you awake, Clam?”

“Yes ...”

“I’m sorry ...”

“Don’t apologise ... neither of us is to blame.”

Turning onto his side and propping his head up on his arm, Simon looked down on Clamence, who still had his eyes closed, and twirled the wild chestnut brown locks about his fingers, teasing out individual curls, pulling them like springs to let them go and watch them bounce.

“You have beautiful hair ...”

“I like yours better ...”

“I have to go to church before we can go rowing on Sunday ...”

“My father is back at about five o’clock ...”

“Tomorrow is Thursday ...”

“And?”

“I was just reminding myself ... What will you say to Benjamin when he comes in tomorrow?”

“Nothing in particular ... It rather depends on what he says to me. If he bad-mouths you, I will defend you of course.”

“Without giving the game away.”

“Yes, despite the fact that the other night you said that you didn’t care what he thought ... You said that you had sucked his cock; maybe he remembers.”

“It was ten years ago.”

“Hardly the sort of thing that someone is going to forget.”

“Do you think he feels guilty or is it possible that in some strange way, he was trying to say something?”

“Bravado to mask his true feelings ... hardly original but it could have been.”

“Perhaps to put Pierre off the scent ...”

“He doesn’t strike me as the naïve sort.”

“Even more reason for Benjamin to be careful ... and he had the date with Marie.”

“Who he has no respect for ...”

“He doesn’t suspect you, Clam; that much is obvious.”

“He has no ammunition so he’s firing blanks ...”

It started as a smirk, which grew into a chuckle, and ended in a fit of laughter that brought tears to their eyes.

“Unlike us!” Clamence finally announced.

Flicking his eyes to the clock, which told him that it was nearly one a.m., Clamence spooned up and planted a kiss between Simon’s shoulders. “Go to sleep ...”

Folding Clamence’s arms across his chest, Simon settled. “Goodnight ...”

Half asleep and half awake, Clamence was vaguely aware of Simon’s hand gripping him and guiding him into his still slick hole. With some shuffling about, he found himself buried to the hilt in Simon’s arse.

When it was clear that Simon was not going to say anything, Clamence hugged him tighter and buried his face into the back of his neck, stealing one more kiss before he finally dropped off.

oOo

“Where is your father, Clamence?”

“In Avignon, visiting my aunt ... Were those the shoes?”

“Yes ... the heels are terribly worn down and the soles need patching ... Can you do them today?”

“I should be able to; call back just before I close up.”

“You ought to be careful about hanging around Simon ...”

“Why? He’s a decent sort and pays his way.”

“He works hard ... I didn’t mean that.”

“What did you mean?”

“Do I really need to spell it out?”

“Well; it’s obvious from what you said at the baths that you think he’s queer.”

“I believe he is ... I saw you two the other night, coming from the bar. He had his arm though yours ...”

“We were drunk, Benjamin ... hardly a crime.”

“Whose idea was it to go swimming?”

“His from memory ... Do I take that to mean that you think he invited me so that he could sneak a peek?”

“Well; didn’t he?”

“Probably ... just as you and Pierre did no doubt ... and you had no problem with remaining uncovered in the steam room or in the changing room.”

“If he had laid a finger on me, I would have dashed his brains out.”

“Why are you concerned, Benjamin? I am well able to look after myself.”

“All I am saying is ... be careful.”

With which, Benjamin left, leaving Clamence convinced that Benjamin was trying to put everyone off the scent. And perhaps, having seen them together, he was worried that Simon might have mentioned the camping trip and all of this was the product of his paranoia.

“The amount of time he spends with Pierre, and the shocking way he treats his girlfriends, one would have to wonder ...”

Such thoughts, but mostly the prospect of showing Simon the car that evening, carried him along for the most part. At four o’clock, with all of the orders completed and bagged up ready for collection, he spent an hour in the rear workroom at his makeshift design table, working on a design of a new kind of engine.

He did not hear Benjamin come in at five o’clock nor his shout of, “Shop!”

Benjamin’s appearance at the door to the room startled him.

“I did call out.”

“Sorry; you startled me.”

“What are you working on?”

“A design for a new type of engine - well; not so much the engine but a forced induction system to increase power and torque.”

“May I see?”

“Of course ...”

Benjamin stepped up to the back of Clamence’s chair and leant over.

“A traditional supercharger takes energy from the engine to produce energy; contrast that with a turbocharger which uses exhaust gases but suffers lag ... this twincharger attempts to overcome the weaknesses of both ... I am having some issues with the design of the diverter valve ...”

“I never realised that you were so mechanically minded.”

“I hope to build a prototype and fit it to the Jaguar ... Your shoes are ready.”

“Thank you ...”

Clamence pushed back from the desk and stood up. However, Benjamin remained close, forcing Clamence to move awkwardly to avoid touching him.

“Simon is using you; you realise that, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a predator ... I’ve seen him do it before.”

Skirting around the other man, Clamence tried to edge towards the doorway. Benjamin moved slightly to one side, effectively blocking his path.

“Simon is a friend of mine - nothing more.”

“I could tell you some things-”

“Please, Benjamin ... I have to lock up now.”

“If you’re afraid of him, I could have words ...”

“Benjamin; Simon is perfectly civil and amiable towards me. If anyone is frightening me, it’s you by not letting me pass. Please take your shoes and leave.”

Benjamin took another step forward. Clamence could smell the alcohol on his breath and was overtaken by the sensation of all his blood rushing to his stomach. Cold beads of sweat formed and ran down his back, making him shudder despite his efforts to remain calm.

“I like you, Clamence-”

“Benj-”

Benjamin lunged and grabbed Clamence by the lapels, pulling him close enough that their lips were barely an inch apart.

“Say the word and I’ll deal with him ... and anytime you want the company of a real man, just let me know ... Ciao!”

Pushing Clamence back, Benjamin left smartly. He threw some coins on the counter and grabbed his shoes on the way out, slamming the door.

Clamence could not move for a few minutes; not until his heart had stopped thumping in his chest and he could breathe calmly. Straightening up, he moved quickly to the shop door, turned the key and flipped the sign, immediately pressing his back up against the cool glass.

“What in the Devil’s name?”

When his legs and hands had stopped shaking, he went to the washroom at the back of the shop and bathed his face in cold water.

A rap at the door made his heart stop.

It was Simon.

“I am so glad you are here ...” and Clamence went on to recount the incident.

“What demon torments him? And only on my way here, Pierre stopped me and asked me if I had seen him.”

“He had been drinking ... his eyes were wild and I was truly afraid.”

“If he had touched a hair-”

“Simon ... can we not speak of violence ... just hold me ...”

He did for a good long while.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

Simon kissed him and straightened his tie.

“Did you still want to show me the car? I perfectly understand if you just want to go home.”

“No; I would like to show you the car ...”

They exited the rear of the shop and crossed the courtyard.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed; it is currently just a pile of bits.”

“I have never seen a car dismantled ...”

Clamence flipped the light switch.

“I have a lot of work to do ... Duval’s delivers the body back by the end of the month, they say. By then, I would like to have reassembled the chassis, the framing and the drivetrain. My father has offered to help with the reupholstering ...”

“I asked Father to speak to one of the salesmen to see if we can’t get the bulbs for you; he assures me that it should be fairly easy.”

“By the end of the summer, when my father closes for a week and takes his vacation proper, I would like to have her ready and drive down to the coast ...”

“Was that an invitation?”

Clamence stole a glance, grinning boyishly.

“Would you? I mean; could you get the time off?”

“I could ask ...”

The remaining clouds were driven away by the feeling that welled up between them.

“What about dinner tonight, Clam?”

“I would prefer to cook at home. I really don’t want to bump into Benjamin this evening.”

“Agreed. Was there work on the car that you wished to do tonight? I am willing to help.”

“Well; if you don’t mind. I would like to finish the sanding of the ash frame if you could start painting the chassis.”

“Lead on!”

They worked for about three hours; in the process, getting filthy dirty.

“Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You can have a bath at my place.”

“Was that an invitation?”

“Yes; to get clean, Simon ... if only to get dirty all over again ...”

They quickly tidied up and strode back to the appartement.

“One of my customers gave me a small chicken in exchange for mending his boots. I propose to roast it while we take a bath. How does that sound?”

“If you plan to stuff it with sage and onion and baste it with butter, I would say I was in seventh Heaven.”

“They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach ...”

“Get the bird in the oven and I’ll show you a quicker way ...”

Blushing madly and smiling broadly, Clamence prepared the bird as Simon drew a bath.

“One hour ... I threw some spuds in the pan too.”

“Yorkshire pudding?”

“No, but I do have some red wine gravy ...”

“Even better ... Lean forward and I will wash your back ...”

Clamence could not remember the last time anyone had bathed him - probably his mother when he was a boy. He found it amazingly relaxing.

“Did Pierre say anything else to you, Simon?”

“He apologised for his and Benjamin’s behaviour at the baths ...”

“Really? I wonder he hangs around with him.”

“I think he borrows his confidence from Benjamin ... it was just the same at school.”

“Ten years on?”

“Maybe he’s frightened to let go ...”

“I can understand that ... I’ve buried myself in the shop and tinkered with the car for much the same reason.”

“Me too ... but not now.”

“Do I give you confidence?”

“Yes ...”

Clamence quirked his mouth. No one had ever said that before. He was about to ask how when Simon dumped a pitcher of water over his head to wash away the suds, and he got a mouthful of soap.

“Rotter!”

“Pah!”

When their skins began to prune and the soap scum had formed a tide mark around the bath an inch wide, they got out to towel off.

“I’m starving!” Simon announced.

“Me too; I skipped lunch to finish all of the repairs by four to give myself an hour at the design table.”

“Maybe you could go to an evening class ...”

“There are classes but you need a University degree to really get on.”

“What about working for an engineer to get the training?”

“I would have to work for practically nothing ...”

“I see the issue ... I don’t need a degree to work in fashion but I need something I simply do not know how to get.”

“What?

“A CV ... no one is going to take me seriously until I have some credentials.”

“Seems that neither of us can have what we want unless we are prepared to starve to death, and even then, there is no guarantee.”

“Canaries in a cage whom no one listens to ...”

“Come on! Let’s not get maudlin. And I can smell the roast ...”

They dined royally and in the process, dispelled the gloom that threatened to eclipse the prospects of the night ahead and the following two nights plus the trip to the river.

oOo

“You smell of amber ...”

“You smell of need, Simon.”

“I have never leaked so much!”

“Stick it in me!”

“I won’t need any lube tonight; my bird is self-basting!”

“Fool!”

In having watched Clamence sand the frame and in so doing, get all hot and sweaty, and in sneakily enjoying the spectacle of him removing his shirt, leaving his vest on but oh what delights that had whispered of as the sweat and grime had painted the pale canvas with arrows, marking the treasure troves, Simon was tortured by the feelings of lust that did not ever seem to now go away. Even as they ate, he had blatantly feasted on the sight of the juices running down Clamence’s chin - juices he had licked up, needing no invitation or encouragement. Cleaving those firm, buttery mounds with his hot knife, he feared he would not last more than a few minutes. The prospect of shooting his seed deep into the furrow made him even harder than usual. He bit down on Clamence’s shoulder and banged away, trying to delay the onset of his release but it proved useless. He pumped out his load in under five minutes.

“I wish I could have lasted forever ...”

“I couldn’t have taken it; I feel ready to explode. I am seeing stars and they are rushing away from me.”

“I am in Heaven ...”

They flung themselves down onto their backs, side-by-side, still catching their breath.

“I do not know how I meant to go back to the way it was before ... When I felt the urge, perhaps catching the whiff of some road worker’s sweat, I would hammer the nails in the shoes that much harder. Many a blood blister I have had, I can tell you,” admitted Clamence.

“I would go to the top of the big ladder and close my eyes, hoping fear would eclipse the feelings. Once I toppled and pulled a chandelier down with me ... Father was not very amused, to say the least.”

“After my father comes back, I must see you every day ... You could help with the car; my father leaves the garage well alone for fear of kicking something over or upsetting the jig.”

“I will fit new lights ... Yes; every day ... Even for a minute will be better than nothing.”

“And Sunday afternoons on the river ... and swimming once a week.”

“I suppose we will manage ...”

“We will ... until things are different. I can wait if I know that you are waiting for me.”

“And a holiday to boot!”

The future then did not seem so bleak and they curled up together after whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ear before turning out the light.

oOo

Clamence got up early, kicked Simon out, and cleaned the house, knowing that there would be precious little chance over the course of the weekend. He bundled up the laundry and took it to the place that he and his father always used - apparently, the old woman who ran the place used to be his mother’s ex-music teacher, who, having fallen on hard times, washed clothes and darned socks.

When he got to the shop, keys jangling in his hand, Simon was waiting.

“Simon?”

“Something terrible has happened.”

“What? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

“Let’s go in; I hope you have some brandy.”

Once inside, keeping the door locked and the ‘closed’ sign up, Clamence fetched a small brandy for Simon, who was seated at the counter.

“Whatever is the matter, Simon?”

“Benjamin killed Pierre ... in the Square ... knifed him in the guts ... there is blood all over the pavement.”

“When did this happen?”

“Not half an hour ago. Father sent me to get the baguettes for the weekend. I turned the corner and found the Square in chaos.”

“Who told you what happened?”

“Frederick; he saw it all and Pierre being carried off by the ambulance and the police taking Benjamin away in a black van.”

“Whatever possessed him?”

“Some demon ... Pierre toppled into the fountain, Frederick said, and the water turned pink and looked like the soda machine at Franelli’s ... it’s just horrible to think about. After he threw the knife in after him, Benjamin just sank to the ground, howling until the police arrived.”

Comforting Simon, Clamence had some dreadful thoughts about what might have been, and he took a swig of the brandy himself.

“D-do y-you think he had the knife on him when he came yesterday?”

“Don’t even think about it, Clam ... But why? Pierre was his best friend ...”

Several customers tried the door and, finding it locked, walked away.

“I have to open up, Simon. Sit in the back if you want.”

“No; thank you. I will go home and tell Father ... No doubt he will speak to Michael at lunchtime.”

“Michael the magistrate?”

“Yes; they are friends ...”

“Come by later, yes?”

“Yes, I will. I suppose we should be grateful that it wasn’t either you or I. How terrible for Pierre’s mother and father.”

“Try not to dwell on it, Simon ...”

Simon left, still shaken but with colour in his cheeks. Clamence opened the shop and waited for the first customer, knowing that the news would have spread like wildfire and he’d hear of it repeatedly throughout the day.

He did, and he was also inundated with questions from those who assumed that he knew Benjamin and Pierre well.

By lunchtime, he wondered if he shouldn’t go to the police station and tell them about Benjamin’s visit the previous evening. Resolved to do so, he closed up but bumped into Simon outside.

“I think I ought to tell the police that Benjamin came here yesterday and was threating to harm you.”

“But what if they ask why? Someone may jump to the wrong conclusion.”

“Damn; I didn’t think of that. And they may wonder why I waited ... and we do not know what Benjamin himself has said.”

“Do nothing and say nothing. No one could have predicted what he was going to do.”

“What if I had said something last night? Perhaps Pierre would still be alive-”

“Don’t say that; you couldn’t possibly have known what he was going to do, and certainly not to Pierre.”

“This is just terrible.”

“Close the shop. Father has closed up.”

“It’s true that most of the customers this morning only wanted to gossip.”

Clamence closed the shop and they went to the appartement by way of the launderette.

Marie was in the back, being comforted by her mother who worked the afternoon shift.

The old woman, whose name was Geraldine, said on the quiet, “Benjamin accused her of seeing Pierre behind his back ... she denied it of course but, seemingly, he didn’t believe her.”

The men left and hurried back to the flat.

“Will that be the end of it, Simon?”

“In a way, I hope so - poor Marie.”

“And Pierre barely a man and only just starting out on life’s journey ... and Benjamin will be sent away for the rest of his life ... it’s truly tragic.”

Neither could settle and in the end, they went to the river for a walk under the willows, taking the radio with them so that they could sit and listen to the orchestral music hour.

oOo

When the programme had finished, Clamence got ready to get up. Simon placed his hand on Clamence’s arm.

“I have come to a decision, Clamence ...”

“Yes?”

“I am going to tell Father and Mother how things stand between us ... as long as you agree ...”

“But ... but why the change of heart?”

“What if he had knifed you or me ... I should have never had the chance to say all the things that my heart is practising even as we sit here ... I cannot, absolutely cannot, bear the thought of not sharing everything with you before it is too late ... One never knows what is going to happen ...”

“Simon ... Are you absolutely sure? What about your mother?”

“I will tell Father first and he can perhaps work out the best way of breaking the news. We may have to be discrete for a while longer for her sake ... but I want it to be known that you are mine ... that is ... if I am yours.”

“Yours? Forever and always, Simon ...”

“I could cry ...”

“Me too ...”

“Let’s go back ...”

oOo

“Some strategy is called for when it comes to our fathers, Simon.”

“Agreed. Father is terribly dour as a rule - a real dry old stick. I don’t know how to approach him.”

“Perhaps, given that mine is a little more jovial, especially after he has enjoyed his sister’s hospitality, I will tell him and ask him to speak to yours ... That might work.”

“What if he flies into a rage or kicks you out?”

“I don’t think he will. Since my mother died, we have been everything to each other - he says that I remind him of her too much sometimes ... he is a good man ... not that it won’t be a shock but one he will get over, I am sure of it ...”

“Let’s hope so and let’s hope he agrees to talk to Father. What he tells Mother, God alone knows.”

“When, Simon?”

“Next week, I suppose ... but there will no doubt be the funeral next week ... that’ll put the mockers on it for a few days ... The following week, on the Wednesday, when you close for the half-day.”

“Agreed ... Are we sure?”

“I am positive ... But what if it goes badly?”

“We’ll pack our bags, take the money out of our accounts and go to Marseille to look for digs and find jobs, even if it’s cleaning the streets or gutting fish on the quayside.”

“You make it sound so exciting and romantic.”

“I would rather stay here but that is what I will do.”

“If it comes to it, I’ll do it ... together!”

“Together ... Now get into bed, Simon ...”

oOo

Saturday was the busiest day of the week for both shops, and the men did not see each after they parted company at breakfast. As they had parted in the morning, they had agreed to meet at seven o’clock at the theatre bar for a drink and some tapas before watching a play - Le Malentendu by Camus - that involved a friend of Simon’s, who had given him a couple of complimentary tickets when Simon had told him how much Clamence admired the author’s work.

After a shower, and an agonising half hour over the decision as to what to wear, they both headed out and met up at the bar. Clamence was slightly ahead and had already grabbed a table and ordered some wine.

“Sorry I’m late, Clam.”

“I haven’t been here long.”

“Father always insists on reorganising the window display on a Saturday - granted, we had an exceptionally profitable day ... How about you?”

“Nothing exceptional - that said, I was grateful for the fact that very few of the patrons felt the need to discuss recent events ... Every time I think about it, a cold tongue licks my spine.”

“Well; a warm one later will hopefully make things right-”

“Shush! Cheers by the way.”

“Cheers!”

They grabbed the waiter and ordered a selection of tapas with bread and olives, busying themselves with the plans the following day to go rowing.

“I have to go to church first, Clam.”

“Me too given the circumstances ... Can you skip lunch and be at the rowing club by one o’clock?”

“Yes. What should we wear?”

“Something you don’t mind getting wet!”

“I have no intention of falling in ... but you’re sensible to recommend it.”

“I have to be home by four-thirty, in time to make the tea for my father and answer a thousand questions on the business - you would think we were stock brokers.”

Mention of ‘father’ reminded them both of the plan.

“Are we still resolved, Clam?”

“Yes. It sounds ridiculous but I wonder why we have waited so long ... Why should it have taken something like a death to bring us to our senses?”

“I agree with you ... It is still a daunting prospect.”

“I meant to ask you, Simon; did your father meet with Michael, and if he did, what did he say?”

“I know they met because Michael came by the shop at lunchtime and picked him up ... If they discussed it, Father is obviously keeping schtum ... and he asked me nothing but then Frederick was the one who saw everything.”

“I cannot imagine going to prison ... He must be terrified.”

“La Santé ... the very name makes my blood go cold.”

They both took a few minutes of quiet reflection before digging into the food. With just enough time for a coffee before the bell rang, they took a café serre and treated themselves to a cigarillo before making their way into the theatre and finding their seats.

Simon’s friend had secured them seats in the second row.

“I do hope you enjoy this,” whispered Simon.

“I have read the play ... it is rather dark and disturbing.”

“Maybe not the best choice in the circumstances.”

“We can leave at the interval if it gets too much ...”

The performance began. Clamence, more than Simon, was spellbound, having precious few opportunities to go to the theatre, especially to see Camus’ work.

At the interval between acts one and two, they exited for a soda.

“I thought it was a little absurd that neither the man’s mother nor his sister recognised him, even after twenty years,” Simon suggested.

“Perhaps ... but assuming he was much changed, it is an interesting idea ... to observe those we knew after such a long time to see how they really tick.”

“Cold-blooded murderers - brrr!”

“Is it the idea of murder or that they are women?”

“Probably both ...”

They re-took their seats once the bell sounded.

“I want to shout out ‘They’re going to kill you, you fool!’ ...”

“Resist the urge, Simon ... I want to see how they deal with the revelation ...”

The performance resumed and Clamence was transfixed by the scenes as they unfolded. With no interval between acts two and three, it wasn’t until after the play had ended that they had a chance to discuss it.

“His mother was so cold when she found out that she’d murdered her son - so cold!”

“The sister grieves for her mother, who committed suicide, but shows no grief for having killed her own brother ... and just for the money. I could understand if it was for love ...”

They sauntered home, oddly elated at having indulged in some culture for a change, but also oddly quiet. It wasn’t until they were getting ready for bed that Simon said, “I suppose Benjamin killed for love ...”

“Did he?”

“You heard what the woman said ...”

“If it was for love then it seems like the wrong kind of love ... more like he was treating Marie as a possession.”

“Do you believe he did it because Pierre and she went behind his back?” Simon asked.

“I don’t know ... I suppose so ... What other reason could there be?”

“He was tormented but I have to say I don’t think it was that.”

“What then?”

“Maybe he made an advance on Pierre and Pierre rejected him ... or even threatened to out him.”

“Or Pierre made the advance and Benjamin reacted badly, probably through fear ...”

“Perhaps we’ll never know ...”

Clamence climbed into bed while Simon went to clean his teeth. When he returned, Clamence said, “If he killed Pierre because he was afraid either way, I do not want to be afraid.”

“How do we stop ourselves from being afraid?”

“We have to have faith ...”

“And where do we find faith?”

“In loving and being loved ...”

Epilogue

“What did they say?”

“They said they would employ me for one season to see how it went ... Oh, Clam! One season at L’Opera ... Can you imagine?”

“I am so happy for you.”

“We must celebrate tonight. A champagne supper at Folie’s, yes?”

“Yes ... I have news too-”

“What? Did the letter come? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Slow down! It came by the second post after you had left ... I have an interview with Haricourt’s next week.”

“Whoa!”

“Yes ...”

“Oh my God ...”

“And that’s not the best of it.”

“What else?”

“The American wants to see the car ... in Nice ...”

“Nice!!”

“In two weeks’ time ... just time to buy a new bathing costume ...”

“I can make us new suits ...”

“Make them tuxedos because we are staying at the Westminster ... at his expense.”

“Oh, Clam ... Have you told your father?”

“I told him straightaway-”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was very proud of me ... and he mentioned something to do with making some changes to our living arrangements ...”

“Seriously?”

“He hinted that he could make the studio over the shop habitable again ...”

“It would beat sleeping on the floor of the garage ...”

“They will come round, Simon ... just give them time.”

About the Author

I'm English by birth from the Isle of Wight, living in Newport, spending part of the year in France in the stunningly beautiful department of Haute-Saône in the Franche Comté region. It is heavily forested and very tranquil but the winters are pretty harsh and my home is 820 metres above sea level so I get plenty of snow.

I am also spending increasing amounts of time in the USA, co-managing The Carter Seagrove Project LLC - an independent publishing house, incorporated in the State of Indiana.

I will be 50 years old in 2015. I only started writing in 2009, proving, I suppose, that it is never too late. I didn't think about self-publishing until late 2012, now, more than four years later, I'm even more energized by the process than ever before.

I'm a qualified English teacher, specializing in teaching English as a second language (TEFL), though I don't do much of that now. In the distant past, I taught software skills. In the very distant past, I was a project manager on big IT projects and at the very beginning of my career, I was an Internal Auditor. I have degrees in Internal Auditing, Computer Auditing and Project Management. I'm studying for my degree in Sustainable Development at the moment. Renewable energy is what really interests me and I generate my own power at home via a solar panel.

I'm a member of The Society of Authors, The Society for Editors and Proofreaders and The Independent Author Network.

I grow some of my own food and from Easter to the end of October, I'm outside for the largest part of the day, tending the garden. I write in the evening and during the winter when there is very little else to do. I have no great philosophy except "energy follows intention" and "honour your gifts". These two principles keep me sane, very happy and exceedingly busy!

I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: alpmortal@hotmail.com.

Visit the website, alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on.

Together with Chambers Mars, I am half of Carter Seagrove, author of Dust Jacket and The Inspector Fenchurch Mysteries.

Alp Mortal, Chambers Mars and Shannon M. Kirkland are The Carter Seagrove Project LLC - an independent book publisher. Find us at www.carterseagrove.weebly.com, on Twitter @carterseagrove and on Facebook www.facebook.com/thecarterseagroveproject.

Also by this Author

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Some of the titles written with Chambers Mars:

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The Carter Seagrove Project LLC, created by authors, Alp Mortal and Chambers Mars and Shannon M. Kirkland is a creative space within which authors and artists are invited to collaborate ... any project is considered which furthers the boundaries of the indie dream. Whether you are an artist/illustrator, author/poet, editor, cover/text designer, webmaster or involved in independent film-making, there are limitless opportunities to get involved and do something amazing.

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Juxtaposition - an abstraction

Table of Contents

Contents

Reflections

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by this Author

The Carter Seagrove Project